


SYMBOLIC GESTURES - AN OUTTAKE

by Cerulean_Spork



Series: Shatterdome Heldensagen [5]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerulean_Spork/pseuds/Cerulean_Spork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>opening section cut from beginning of the story for dramatic reveal purposes--some may find it amusing regardless...the reaction when it sinks in that there is no CTRL-Z for real life</p>
            </blockquote>





	SYMBOLIC GESTURES - AN OUTTAKE

The greeting was just a little too bright and cheerful to be innocent, the "Hi!" just a little too airless and desperate.

"Good **morning,** Mr. Becket. Where **are** you?"

"Um-- downtown, Sir?"

**"Turn. Your. Phone. On."**

"But it **is** on, Sir--"

"Turn your **SCREEN** on."

"Uh, I don’t think you can **do** that in the middle of a call, Sir--"

_**Oh, laying it on thick, wasn’t he? Too late for that--!** _

" **Yes** , you **can** , you got the **same firmware updates** as everyone else. Now **turn your phone on,** Becket!"

There was some muttering and a bit of sound interference and then the call cut off completely.

It **could** have been an innocent mistake, and not pure funk.

He waited ten seconds, then dialed again.

This time the Jaeger pilot answered on visual, which was a start, if not much of one. The last time he’d seen **that** fixed a smile that early in the morning, he’d been securing the release of a Flying Officer who’d celebrated his recent graduation from Cranwell a little too enthusiastically and run out of alcohol while the party was still roaring, only to throw a **fine fit** in Tesco’s when they challenged him -- as the law required -- to **prove** he was legally of age. The worst of it being, he’d **had** his ID on him, it was all a matter of pique! (In his opinion, the boy hadn’t looked **seventeen** , let alone twenty-five, and he’d **acted** about seven.)

Just now, he’d **gladly** trade posting bail for belligerant hungover brats for what he had on his hands at present--

(Even if it meant teaching basic tactics classes to whey-faced twits and being oh-so-discreetly snubbed by so-called colleagues? Even **that** , if it meant none of the rest of it had followed-- and then his traitor soul whispered, _**Even though ‘the rest of it’ meant they’d wrested most of the world’s swords away and beaten them, not into ploughshares but into one BIG sword that only a giant could wield?**_ and he put the question from his mind--)

 **"Where** are you?" Ah, wait, that was a familiar bit of building frontage -- right, he knew where they were. At least, he hoped it was "they" -- leaning a little to the left in his chair got Becket to lean to his right, as he’d expected, and yes, there they were sitting at one of the outside tables, McGregor and Silva and Schmidt and yes, there was O’Hara coming out with a tray of cups, and hadn’t **that** been a crowded ride over, even if Luis did drive one of those oversize cab dealies? _**\--Good.**_

"You **neglected** to file notification with your **security team** that you were going **off-Dome."**

Not that it mattered in Anchorage, particularly, between them being the hometown heroes and, **as** hometown heroes, people whose appearance about town wasn’t all that much to get excited about any more -- and at **this** hour he wasn’t even going to run into many autograph seekers, assuming anybody **recognized** him in a lumberjack shirt over a faded band tee with some sort of octopus made of scarves on it, **and** assuming anyone spotted them behind the masses of flowering plants surrounding the terrace.

But the principle of it **mattered** \-- and how he **answered** would be revelatory.

"I told **Ted** when we left. _**Sir."**_ (Though in actual fact it had been the guardsman who had suggested very, **very** strongly that he should probably make himself scarce "till the dust settles around here, kid--" but the outcome was the same so it didn’t really matter, right?)

"Why are you five off base **right now?"**

"We all have free time, so, we were just gonna hang out--"

" **Why** are you off base? Nothing’s even open at this hour!"

"Just--" Having to hold the phone with one hand definitely cramped the boy’s conversational style! " **You** know, gonna get some coffee?"

"We **have** coffee here," Pentecost said, levelly, wondering how far this was going to go -- or be pushed.

"Well, **you** know -- sometimes you just want **different** coffee?"

 **"Becket.** You’re **AT** Dark Horse. They buy from the **same place** that supplies _**OUR**_ coffee. _**It’s the exact same brand.**_ It says so **RIGHT ON THE DOOR when you go in."**

"Oh."

_**Yes, "Oh" indeed!** _

Before the pilot could start in on some cockeyed explanation of how they **made** it differently, he added, "Mr. Becket, your Jaeger is **covered** in glowing neon bumper stickers."

"Uh-huh?"

"They were **not** there at supper last night."

"Uh." It was the pure distilled essence of deer-in-headlamps, his expression -- just enough awareness to realize that things were about to get very unpleasant without the capacity to comprehend just how and why.

"How did they **get** there?"

"I put them on."

 **"You** put them on."

"Yes, Sir."

**"Yourself."**

"Yessir!"

 **"All** by yourself." It wasn’t a question, but the younger Ranger wasn’t quick enough to figure that out in time.

"Yup!" Obviously he’d heard that a straightforward open stare was the mark of genuine honesty, but it hadn’t clicked that that trick **only** worked if what you were professing was somewhere within target range of possibility. Otherwise, the effect was closer to _**stoned.**_

 **"When** did you acquire a time machine, Mr. Becket?"

"Huh?"

"Please **don’t** tell me you’ve learned to **bend** the laws of physics."

"Um..."

 **"Why** did -- _**you**_ \-- put them **on?"** This one was easier.

"We’re gonna **SHOW 'em** , Sir!"

"Show **who?** Show them **what?"**

"You know, **them**! The radio people!"

Pentecost recalled Herc Hansen telling him about the day his son discovered hex wrenches and took several pieces of furniture apart before anyone realized what he was doing, and how he’d worn a defiantly **gleeful** yet simultaneously **terrified** expression when they finally took them away, after the coffee table collapsed.

Now he knew **exactly** what expression his friend had been describing. --Of course, the boy **had** been four or five years old at the time. Children were supposed to grow **out** of these things, not into **greater** flights of frenzy, weren’t they?

"You’re not **making** any sense, Ranger. Try again."

Several long seconds of unintelligible (yet heatedly indignant) babbling followed.

"You’re **still** not making any sense. And your Jaeger is **still covered** with unexplained stickers. Which **all have to come off** before K-Day."

"Should...we....come **back,** Sir?"

"No." _**Definitely not.**_ "Do **not** come back before lunch. Under **no circumstances SHORT OF AN ALARM** are you to set foot on base before noon. You **will** , however, be back before tea. **When** you return, you will report to Medical **at once** for a full neural scan and bloodwork."

"But that’s not scheduled ‘til **Thursday--"**

"Becket, **shut up** and _**do what I tell you**_. Also, you will _**call**_ Craft Services **in the next quarter hour** and find out if there is **anything** you can pick up for them while you’re in town." _**Might as well get some use out of the miscreants! Now, what things might be ALMOST impossible to find in an Anchorage market?**_ He hunted out, left-handed, a message to the Mess Hall chiefs asking if there were any spices or other unusual ingredients they were out of, not saying "snipe hunt" in so many words but achieving the same thing.

"Okay. Um, Sir, can you **text** me their extension? I deleted my directory file the other day by accident and I keep forgetting to reinstall it--"

 **"Ask** your **partners in crime,"** Pentecost ground out past the urge to scream incoherently and throw things, which didn’t do any good to a cell phone, "and **get out** of my sight."

 **"Ooookay,"** and the screen went dark, but the Jaeger pilot had evidently mixed up his buttons again and the call was not cut off, only a little muffled by distance and the breeze. "You guys were right -- he’s **really** pissed off. We’re like, **reverse grounded** till lunchtime. **And** we have to go grocery shopping I guess 'cause we took your truck, but I don’t get it, we can’t carry anything like the big transports, so -- oh hey, **what** food stores do we have an account with? 'Cause I just brought enough cash for breakfast and it looks like I forgot my swipe card--"

 **"All** of them, Raleigh, **all of them--"** the co-head of Internal Transport said with manic dismay, while the other division chiefs chorused, "We are **so** dead," and Pentecost stabbed savagely at the disconnect button.

 _ **No, you’re in the Hell of We-have-gotten-our-CO’s-full-attention, but YOU’RE just in Limbo right now, while Raleigh Becket’s in the Circle of I-brazenly-lied-to-my-CO-with-a-smile-on-my-face, and that’s an even bigger problem than --**_ looking down at the latest blinking message window, which read only:

**PARTICULATE SCAN, SHORTEST RANGE, 5 PASSES: 15K, +/- RANGE 1K. -TC**

_**\--FIFTEEN THOUSAND BLOODY BUMPER STICKERS to peel off our Jaeger in less than a fortnight--** _

Give bored young people very large machines to play with unsupervised and they did things like wonder if their tank’s housing really was hot enough to cook on (Ans: **yes** , if you defined "edible" very, **very** broadly) and dig giant holes in the ground to see how fast they could do it and then fill them up afterwards, and most of the time no serious harm was done (though the testers of the tank housing fry-up who hadn’t thought to scrub down the cooking surface first -- well, it was so very hot! -- might debate that one) but then--

All right, nobody was in Medical over this _**(yet!)**_ and no ‘Dome functionality had been impaired **(if** you didn’t count personnel sanity) and it could be -- no, this was **not** the time to look for silver linings.

_**We have a problem, and there is no higher authority I can appeal to, not Houston, not Brussels, not Tokyo, to solve it--** _

If the Beckets were rock stars, he thought glumly, it was one of those bands that not only started out but **stayed** in the garage, and made its equipment out of junk lying around the cellar, and electrocuted themselves on a regular basis as a result. He didn’t even have the energy to issue an imagery non-circulation order this time _**\-- What the hell, if nobody here CARES enough about the dignity of the Corps to stop Raleigh Becket and his merry band of fools from VANDALIZING THE JAEGER, what can I, the mere HEAD of this organization, DO about it?**_

(Strangely enough, not one single graphic of this event would percolate even through the interior systems of the networked Shatterdomes. It remained, in perpetuity, an Anchorage event; but **that** smallest of consolations was yet to transpire.)

 **Then** he realized that there was something else he really **ought** to do, or else the idiot’s phone would run down in his pocket and there’d be some reason he **needed** to call back to the ‘Dome, and so he hastily started composing a text to the four nominal grownups in the party, and then he went back and changed it from **"TELL BECKET TO RING OFF BEFORE HIS BATTERY DIES" to "TELL BECKET TO HANG UP HIS PHONE NOW"** because the _**last**_ thing he wanted was any of them calling him back to ask what he’d meant.

_**It’s ONLY 0700. The only thing to be grateful for is that this day is nearly guaranteed not to give us a -- no, if I say that, we’ll get an earthquake instead!** _

The worst part was that it was obviously **catching** \-- and how! Even **Tendo** seemed to be affected by it, given the way the LOCCENT chief had looked grumpy and sounded peeved when he declared that he couldn’t **possibly** speculate on a motivation for any of this, seeing as how nobody had **consulted** him about it!

_**Well. Time to see just how far the brain rot goes--** _

He punched up the Loudhail app, slid the volume on the ‘Dome tannoy interface from its default 7 all the way to _**12,**_ the upper limit, and said, _**"Yancy Becket, report to my office immediately,"**_ which was cruel, and not just to the other Jaeger pilot -- but whatthehell, they were **all** neck-deep in it, all **equally** incarnadine!

_**Other commanders get mutinies and fraggings -- and I get cryptic redecorating jobs! It could be so much worse, except I honestly have NO idea what they’re dissatisfied ABOUT. But they certainly picked a hell of a way to show it...** _

**Author's Note:**

> [ **Dark Horse Coffee in Anchorage** ](http://www.darkhorsecoffee.com/http___web.me.com_darkhorseak_Dark_Horse_Coffee_Welcome.html/Welcome.html)  
>   [ **Heritage Roasters**](http://www.heritagecoffee.com/)


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